


Not Quite The Usual Scene

by icarus_chained



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a BAMF, Aziraphale is a crazy person, Crack, Gen, I am a crazy person, M/M, Poor Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last scene of the last battle does not go ... quite as anyone expected. (Or, the one where Aziraphale traumatises Michael)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite The Usual Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Something ridiculous that sprang into my head. I mostly just wanted to make Aziraphale say that one sentance ...

It was a scene straight out of a hundred medieval paintings and icons. St Michael the archangel, in all his radiant and terrible glory, wings outstretched, armour bright and gleaming, his sword raised and shining like the sun in his hand. Standing tall upon the fields of Heaven, his foot upon an dark and ragged chest. The Serpent, pinned writhing beneath his sandalled foot, battered wings sprawled in the dust and golden eyes shining upward, lips curled in a vague, pained snarl. 

Admittedly, it was not the _specific_ Serpent most of those images had portrayed. Well, if we're talking the Serpent of Eden, then yes, it was, but if you were conflating the Serpent of Eden with the Dragon, the Morning Star, the Prince of Darkness, the _Devil_ ... then, not so much. That had been earlier in the proceedings, and probably would have been the end of it, but the Serpent _had_ to go and do something foolish once the Battle was all over, and Michael _had_ to be all trigger-happy and jumpy about it, and here they were again. 

So. Not quite the scene those medieval painters had envisaged. Still though. It made for a perfect biblical image, nonetheless. The archangel, in all his radiant fury, raising his sword to strike down the Serpent beneath his foot, while the Serpent stared up at him in desperation and a certain helpless fury. The perfect image.

And then, suddenly, shockingly, spoiled, as a voice hissed from behind the archangel's wing, venemous and affronted and directed to the Prince of Heaven without a single thought to propriety or respect or even sanity. A voice heard across the remains of the Field, in the silence as judges and prisoners alike had stilled to watch the execution.

"Move that sword so much as an inch, and I'll inundate you with such Divine bliss that you'll spontaneously develope genitals just so you can orgasm in the middle of the battle field!"

Michael, the sword already in motion, froze, locked still into the sudden ringing silence, his sword hand falling still and the strangest expression flowing like magma across his face. His jaw, very gently, dropped open, his face going slack in shock. 

Beneath his foot, the Serpent suddenly appeared to be having trouble breathing.

"And that," the voice noted, somewhat redundantly, with some remnant of primness entering all at once, "would be rather embarrassing, don't you think?"

No-one moved. In all of Heaven, no-one moved, staring in something like awe as the Archangel Michael stood in frozen horror, and a small, rumpled angel stepped daintily around his mighty wings, and ever-so-gently pushed him back a step, until his foot no longer pressed his erstwhile-prisoner into the earth. Michael staggered, almost fell, back. The Serpent, though freed, made no move, curled shaking in the dirt. Those close enough could see one fist pressed desperately to his mouth, and golden eyes screwed shut in what looked for all the world like pain.

"Dearest?" The rumpled angel bent close to him in concern, blissfully unworried by the stunned archangel at his back. "My dear, are you hurt?"

The Serpent made some desperate wheeze, a paroxysm seeming to convulse him where he lay, and the pale hand not pressed against his mouth shot out to catch the angel's wrist, and tug him close. The angel went willingly, dropping neatly to his knees at the Serpent's side, and frowned down at him in concern. The demon shook silently, pressed into the earth, and simply held on, as if for dear life, to the angel's hand.

"Crowley? Crowley, dear, you must tell me what's wrong!" The angel smoothed his hand across the Serpent's shaking shoulder, his brow carved into a frown as the demon shook his head, and then shot a truly _venemous_ look across his shoulder at the archangel. Michael, still staring in something like shock, swayed back as if struck, and the Serpent gasped, desperately, his hand falling from his mouth, and the reason for his distress suddenly becoming apparent. 

The armies of Heaven, exhausted and amazed with victory, and the forces of Hell, battered and beaten on the field, stared in stunned silence as the Serpent of Eden lay in the dirt, and laughed helplessly into the slack-jawed face of the Prince of Heaven.

The rumpled angel, kneeling at his side, looked between them, from the hiccuping demon to the gaping archangel, and frowned again, now in confusion, and then, as comprehension dawned, and some realisation of exactly _who_ he had just threatened, and what he had just threatened him _with_ , his brow smoothed into an expression of vaguely rueful amusement.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said, softly, smiling down at his demon and patting the shaking shoulder lightly. "Do you think that was a little over the top, then?"

It took some time, after that, for the Serpent to remember how to breathe. That was alright, though. It took the rest of the field as long to remember how to move. And the angel, how to stop smiling.


End file.
